God Is The Biggest Meta
by PwnedByPineapple
Summary: Really, you'd think that after four billion years - and with several thousands of those years spent observing the conundrum known as humanity - they would have learned something by now. Semi-crack and somewhat meta.


**Title:** God Is The Biggest Meta**  
Author:** PwnedByPineapple**  
Summary: **_Really, you'd think that after four billion years - and with several thousand of those years spent observing the conundrum known as humanity - they would have learned something by now. Semi-crack and somewhat meta._**  
Warning(s): **spoiler-y for Seasons 5, 6, and 7**  
Notes:** Written sometime in the middle of season 7. I like spinning dumb theories, and I especially like meta.

**Disclaimer: This fangirl owns nothing and would like to humbly apologize to the Big Man upstairs for this blasphemy. But what's the point of believing if you can't have some fun with religion, eh?**

* * *

If God was completely honest with Himself (and when was He not honest?), then He had to admit that He was a little ticked at the moment. Not really angry, per se, or even all that annoyed. ("Slow to anger" was truer than most people realized.) Disappointed, yes, but that feeling went hand-in-hand with sentient Creation. No - 'a little ticked' summed it up nicely, at least according to His own personal connotation of the phrase - and who was going to argue with _that_?

But really. You'd think that after four billion years - and with several thousands of those years spent observing the conundrum known as humanity - they would have learned something by now.

Some of them came close. Gabriel certainly seemed to have learned a little bit, hiding a heart behind that cocky exterior, but the learning of it had cost him his life. (Never mind that God had plans for that one. Maybe not right away, but God was not going to let one of His more - and _only_ - intelligent angelic children fade into oblivion.) And Castiel, bless him, had gotten farthest of all; the boy was such a danger magnet, though! Always getting himself injured or killed, always having to be brought back. He would have given his Father indigestion had that been even remotely possible.

But _really_. How in His own holy name had His angels grown up to take things so _literally_?

Okay, true, He'd told Moses the whole 'honor thy father and mother' thing, which was a valid rule. Parents _usually_ (there were exceptions, sadly) knew what was best for their children and had those best interests at heart. Respecting them was part of the deal. Children were supposed to listen until they'd grown old and mature enough to think and reason for themselves.

Honestly. Half of the motive for the Age of Reason had been to get that concept through those thick angelic skulls! Hadn't they been paying attention to the 18th century at all?

Pay attention. That'd make an excellent eleventh commandment.

And when the time had finally come, when God had quietly placed a momentous decision in their hands alone and trusted (somewhat doubtfully, He'd admit) that they would come to understand His intentions, come to make the right, _independent_ choices, what had they done? They'd made chaos out of the entire thing, like five-year-olds - hopelessly divided, some driven by their own selfish desires while others ran around in confusion without His presence.

It was almost sad that humans did a better job of things.

And not only that, but they'd gone and made things _worse_ after the Winchesters and Castiel had haphazardly dealt with the mess. Warring, bickering, stealing dangerous weapons, etc. - Balthazar was lucky he hadn't accidentally killed himself while transporting the things. And _speaking of that_... Castiel. There'd been so much hope for that one, but apparently the humans had rubbed off on him a little _too_ much. Now, as far as demons went, Crowley was far from the worst, but didn't Castiel know what Lucifer paved his roads with? There were so many other options, if only he had just learned to trust himself a little more, but no. He went straight for Purgatory.

And then, of course, leviathans...

God did not hate any part of His Creation, not even Lucifer. But leviathans... well, they were better off not existing, as far as He was concerned.

And to see His angels just sitting around, most still waiting for Him, while leviathans overran His beautiful Earth...

God had always prided himself on a minimal interference policy. He'd created life, raised it, nurtured it, and then He'd let it live on its own. Thrive on its own. Just like all children did one day, some sooner than others. Sure, He may have lowered a hand to Earth every once in a while when the right situation demanded it, but the point - the entire point, which everyone seemed to miss - was that He did not dictate. He did not control. He let life run on its own choices, because what was the point of a living, light-filled Creation when its Father always stepped in if things got a little dark?

But now, when the point had been so completely and utterly missed, to the extent that the world was literally infested with creatures He Himself had locked away _for a very good reason_... well, it was time for a Fatherly Lecture.

Capital 'L' and all.

And He had to admit... the looks on their faces when He strode right into Heaven were more than a little amusing.

Heaven was missing several of His winged children, thanks to their petty squabbles and war. God had been quite busy lately, in the background, collecting each felled angel's essence before it could fade and letting them have a nice little nap before He could decide when things were stable enough to bring them back. The ones that did remain gazed upon Him in absolute shock, with a few exclamations of "Father!", and one by one knees began to bend, out of that same shock and reverence and perfect devotion that made Him sigh.

"Enough," He said firmly, before the praising could start. "Bowing and scraping and psalms do get a little tiresome after a while." Monty Python had certainly gotten that right; ah, He'd always appreciated that particular brand of humor.

Then He folded his arms and fixed them with a disapproving stare. It sent ripples of panic throughout the gathered angels.

"Look," He said. "I love you, and hopefully you know that. But children - how can you possibly be so dense? Is it willful? Is this some new stage of rebellion that I'm just unaware of?"

Of course it wasn't. He was aware of everything. But even God was allowed some wishful thinking, every now and then.

"F-Father," stammered one. "We don't understand. Why did You leave?"

"'I'," said God. "_'I'_ don't understand. Not 'we'. I for identity. That's what you're supposed to have found already. Your teenage years are long past!" That was the _only_ point of being a teenager, and he'd assumed His angels had already passed that stage - it _had_ been a few billion years, after all. Maybe He should have created them to physically age like humans did. Different angelic forms were a bit baffling, to be honest.

But He was met with only blank stares.

God sighed again; He was always a little disappointed when He had to explain Himself and His plans. "The Apocalypse! Let's start there, shall we? The world was _not supposed to end_."

More shock and disbelief. They were such sheltered kids. Creating some sort of public school for angels was something He should have done, too.

"But you said-" began another.

"I never said _when_ it would end," God interrupted. "And only I know that date. It was a test, children. I've given you enough pop quizzes before. I thought for sure you'd recognize the structure." Or perhaps He'd expected too much, considering one of His last quizzes had resulted in a plague. _That_ had been a disaster.

"A test?" one asked faintly, but God wasn't finished yet.

"And don't even get Me started on what happened _after_," He said. "A war? In My own home while I was gone? Really?"

Several heads bent in shame.

"And instead of trying sensible ways to stop everything that was happening, you went in with guns blazing and no compromise, or even worse, you waited for Me. And because of that, I now have a pest problem."

There was not an angel in that place who could meet His eyes.

"Don't you see?" God continued. "I wanted you to think and reason without Me. I wanted to see that you were capable of making a good choice without relying on My every order. Was it really that difficult?"

This was why Jesus was His favorite. With the whole 'greater love hath no man' and 'love thy neighbor' and 'turn the other cheek' thing, he'd _gotten_ it. Which was why he'd spent time among humans. Humanity may have had its flaws - _big_ flaws - but apparently humans 'got it' way more easily than this lot.

"Father," began one of the angels, almost timidly, "are you saying... that we _shouldn't_ follow your orders?"

"I'm saying," God answered, "that you should take My words into consideration and remember that you were created for good and that you have an obligation to the world and it's well-being."

Pure silence followed this statement, and He let it sink into them thoroughly.

"For example," He then continued, His voice warming, "on the subject of infestation..." All it took was one glance downward, and the floor of Heaven became translucent, revealing an aerial view of a city in the United States. He and His angels could see each leviathan clearly - here and there, spotting the place like rodents. "It needs to be dealt with. And the best way to do that? Smiting." He smiled tightly; He was not as vengeful or angry as some people seemed to think, but smiting _was_ rather fun when the object of the action truly deserved it. "Let me demonstrate."

God extended a hand, zeroing in one of the creatures. No word or gesture was necessary; something akin to lightning leapt from His palm and darted down to Earth, striking the leviathan where it stood. For one moment, the leviathan's eyes were wide in surprise, and then the creature dissipated, leaving absolutely nothing behind.

"But... Father!" one of the angels exclaimed. "We are not supposed to interfere with the business of Earth in such a way!"

"Well, then, don't let Me know about it," God said reasonably. "If I don't catch you, then I don't know you're doing anything wrong. Am I right?"

His winged children were thoroughly confused by this statement. God repressed a sigh. They clearly needed to be exposed to a little more humor; how had they not taken after Him in that respect? He thought He had a fine sense of humor.

"I'll leave you to it, then," He said suddenly, turning around with a wave. "Carry on. Make me proud." There. Let all of that sit on their minds for a while. He still had some reservations about the whole 'making Him proud' part, but He couldn't help but give them the benefit of the doubt. He had a soft spot for His children, after all.

"You're leaving again? Wait!" He heard voices crying out, but God only smiled to Himself and disappeared.

* * *

Sam Winchester awoke with a gasp, sitting up in bed so rapidly that his head spun. The motel room was dark, cold, and silent; on the bed to the left, Dean groaned a little and burrowed more deeply into the blankets. Sam hardly registered this, however.

The dream. Completely bizarre, really. But it had been so _real_. As if he'd been right there the entire time, watching _God_. A sense of awe was pervading his mind, and he felt wide awake. More awake than he had in a long time, actually.

But that was silly. It was just a dream. God was silent, gone, not listening. They couldn't enlist help from Him. Right? Right.

Unless...

Unless.

What if the dream meant more? Sam couldn't get over how vivid it had been, how clearly it stood out in his mind now. Dreams were supposed to fade the longer you stayed awake. But this one seemed to be growing stronger, and it had a tinge of certainty to it. Sam was almost reminded of the visions he used to have, except this had not been painful in the slightest.

Was it possible?

_No. Couldn't be._

But what if it _was_?

He'd watched God smite that leviathan with so much ease.

He'd give anything for help like that.

Was it possible they could enlist God for help? Or even the angels? God had seemed to be demonstrating for them... as if they could do it themselves. But the angels had been completely silent after the leviathans had appeared.

Sam shook his head. He was being ridiculous. Time had already proven that neither was trustworthy, and it was a fruitless road to take.

He lay back down, gazing up at the ceiling, but his mind was far too awake now - active, questioning - to allow him sleep.

* * *

Chuck paused in his typing, giving the last few paragraphs a quick once-over as he sipped at his coffee. It was a plot bunny that had hit him suddenly - well, more like an idea or two that had been floating around in his head for a while now, but he'd been struck with the sudden urge to put it into motion. However, he frowned as he looked over the five pages of written Word.

He couldn't implement it, of course. First of all, dreams were getting kind of overrated; too close to Inception territory, to be honest. Second, no one liked a deus ex machina, however nice and probable such a thing was.

It sure would make everything easier, though.

But he had to keep his readers happy. More importantly, he had to play by his own rules. Otherwise, what was the point?

Besides, everything would turn out all right, in the end - interference or not. He'd know, of course.

So he hit the little 'save' button and put the document into a folder set aside for plot ideas he wouldn't pursue. Just because he wasn't going to use it didn't mean he shouldn't keep it around. It was decent stuff - full of his own brand of humor and logic, which was really _the_ humor and logic because hey, look who he was.

And maybe he could send it somewhere eventually - to a writer in some mirror part of the multiverse, perhaps, because really... it would be nice to share his brilliance every once in a while.

No one, it seemed, was going to get it any other way.

With a sigh, Chuck opened a new document, downed some more coffee, and continued the story.

* * *

**Notes:** In actuality, this fic is so meta that you're going to spend the next few moments contemplating the truth of that statement. _Think about it._


End file.
